Garden of Stone
by DreamBrother
Summary: Tag to season 3's End of Watch. Written for Team Angst in the Recurring Characters round at Numb3rs Write-Off.


**Disclaimer: **I've only done maths till the O Level. I highly doubt the show is mine.

**A/N: **So my internet conked out on Friday. Still hadn't been fixed by Monday, my posting date. Ensue panic, quick email from work to Spikedluv promising to post fic on Tuesday, from work if need be, if internet still hadn't been fixed. Come to work on Tuesday... internet at work has conked out. Brilliant. It's Wednesday, all systems are a go, here's the delayed fic.

Written for Numb3rs Write-Off in the Recurring Characters round. I was in Team Angst and my theme was "present". Hope you all remember season 3's _End of Watch_! Title of fic taken from Pearl Jam's song, "Garden".

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**Garden of Stone**

Seventeen years.

Seventeen years and John's killer had been right under his nose the whole damn time.

Scotch burnt a passage down his throat, a sip for each time he remembered his utter stupidity, for failing to see that Everett's killer had been right under his nose this whole time.

Gary Walker shuddered as he thought of what Everett would have to say to him if knew he'd let his killer spend time alone with his only son – basketball games, camping trips, cookouts in Everett's backyard – the murderer with his victim's son and wife.

Great job he'd done upholding the oath he'd made seventeen years ago to protect them now that John wasn't around to do it himself.

Pouring another bottle-cap of scotch, Walker spilled it on the grass in front of his fallen friend's grave stone. A part of him knew that the alcohol might burn the grass but a greater part of him couldn't bring himself to care. After spending $300 (on a policeman's salary with three alimonies to boot) on a bottle of booze in a pathetic attempt to atone for his mistakes – seventeen years worth of them – a bit of ruined foliage was the least of his problems.

He'd not even gotten through one-third of the bottle when he noticed someone walking towards him from the corner of his eye. He didn't need to turn his head to know it was Eppes. His gut might have failed him lately but of this, he was sure. He knew the man Eppes was – he'd come to make sure Walker didn't do anything stupid in his guilt.

He had to hand it to Eppes – if he hadn't been the stubborn son-of-a-bitch that he was, things would only have gotten worse because Walker had been ready to put his career in jeopardy to finally put Everett's killer behind bars, mistaken though he was. When he'd told Eppes to leave him alone with Bradley, to grab some lunch, have a cup of coffee – a lesser man would have relented. When it came to cop killers and having someone on your team be murdered, all bets were off. Departmental rivalries, the famous cops vs feds feud, was put to the side at such a time.

He knew he'd been a pain in the ass the whole week. He'd accused Eppes and his team of a lot of things, questioned their abilities, been harsh and unfair to them, a group of people he'd come to respect in the span of the few cases he'd worked with them on. He'd honestly seen red when he heard from John's wife that they were pursuing the suicide angle – as if he wouldn't have known if his guy was wanting to off himself.

For all that, he wasn't surprised that Eppes had tracked him down, to see how he was doing. That was just the kind of guy Eppes was. At the same time, he knew he should've been the one tracking Eppes and his team down, offering his sincerest apologies for his behaviour. He would, soon, but not now. Right now, he had to apologize to the ghost he wouldn't let leave.

"Hey." The man didn't waste words either, that's for sure.

"Hey," he replied, before holding the bottle of Scotch out. "I got plenty in the bottle here."

"I can see that." Eppes took the bottle but Walker knew he wouldn't take a sip, he was still on duty. Even at the bar earlier on, the man had only sipped ice water. Not that he didn't know that Eppes could hit the liquor quite hard when he wanted, especially since that Hoyle incident that every cop in LA knew about.

"300 bucks. He woulda appreciated it." If Everett had lived, that is.

"Look Gary, there was nothing you could've done. I know that, you know that." Always cut quick to the chase, Eppes did.

"We'd both be lying to ourselves if we said that, Eppes. Seventeen years. He was right there, under my nose. I just couldn't see it." Walker poured another bottle-cap's worth of Scotch on the grave as a memory pulled him back. "He was a funny kid. He always walked around with this goofy grin. I remember he had this little red radio he'd use to play. There was this one song that he really liked to listen to. I just haven't been able to remember that song... I wish I could remember that song".

Both men stood silent for a moment.

"Wasn't it you who said at the end of the day you go home safe, that's all you can ask?"

Damn him and his words coming back to haunt him. Walker sighed and replied, "That's right, Eppes. You walk away, it all works out." But it was the walking away that was the tricky part. If he'd been able to walk away, he wouldn't be standing in front of the grave of a good man who'd had his life taken from him for no good reason. And betrayed by a partner, on top of that.

But it was over now. Stevenson was in jail. There was plenty of evidence to lock him away for life, if not be awarded the death penalty. Everett's wife and son were safe, shaken by the betrayal but resting easier knowing John's murder had been solved, and his grave wouldn't contain an empty coffin no more.

Fact was, they'd done the best they could. Walker knew he wouldn't be forgiving himself anytime soon but until then, he was still a cop, he still had a duty to all those still alive, to the rest of his team.

He noticed Eppes turn around and walk a few steps before pausing, waiting for Gary to join him.

He took the hint. Maybe one day in the future, maybe tomorrow, he'd come across that favourite song of John's; hear it on some random radio show playing tunes from the eighties. Maybe by the time he did, thinking of John wouldn't be synonymous with feelings of failure and guilt. Maybe it was time to finally let his friend rest in peace.

Upturning the bottle, Walker scattered most of its content as a final goodbye and turned away, each step away from the grave bringing him further out of the past and into the present.

**Khatum**

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This fic was written for the Angst vs Schmoop Challenge at numb3rswriteoff over at Live Journal. After you've read the fic, please rate it by voting in the poll located here = [http:// www. /poll / ?id =1447909](Your vote will be anonymous.) Rate the fic on a scale of 1 - 10 (10 being the best) using the following criteria: how well the fic fit the prompt, how angsty [or schmoopy] the fic was, and how well you enjoyed the fic. When you're done, please check out the other challenge fic at numb3rswriteoff. Thank you**


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